


Mislaid

by Blinkingkills (alexwhitewell), plingo_kat



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst and Humor, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:49:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexwhitewell/pseuds/Blinkingkills, https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin walks in on Harry and Eggsy in his office. This isn't the worst thing that could happen to him, but it comes close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is all due to alexwhitewell's influence -- she started drawing the comic (embedded below in the fic) and then I got roped in.

It isn’t the first time he’s seen Harry Hart kiss another man.

Galahad is _terrible_ about shutting off his feed when he’s on missions. This isn’t necessarily a problem; it’s actually useful when Galahad is taken in the middle of an undercover sting, his rich yet timid cover clearly _too_ rich and timid, enticing a completely unrelated mercenary group to take their chances with him. Most of the other knights will at least place the lenses facing away from them as they sleep, or aimed towards strategic access points of wherever they are staying, but Galahad’s will always be neatly lined up with the corner of the bedstand -- and pointed at the man himself.

Merlin spends quite a lot of time fast-forwarding through footage, full of sleeping agents or otherwise, when typing up reports. Over time he finds that he lingers more on Galahad’s feeds, spending a couple of seconds watching lips part in a sigh, or brows furrow, or a throat vibrate with snores. He justifies it to himself: he worries. Galahad is one of his closest friends. Merlin is, quite literally, looking out for him.

Never, not even on the bad days, does he watch the honeypot recordings more than once. He burns every second of them into memory: the shine of skin and sweat, the wet gasps and stifled whimpers, how sometimes there’s blood or blindfolds or whipped cream or strawberries. He burns every moment into his brain so he can write reports off remembrance alone. There’s only so much he’s willing to endure when what he can’t have is dangled, naked and writhing, in front of his face.

He steels himself to watch them even once because it’s his job, and being a Kingsman is all he is. Every one of them eat and breathe and live the job. Merlin falls somewhere in the middle of the spectrum; Galahad starts off about the same, and travels steadily toward the latter end.

It’s not even an issue, really. They are so busy -- they’re rarely in the same city at the same time -- Merlin aches for a connection, but it’s a distant ache. Lives depend on him, his steady hands and sharp mind, and nowhere in that equation is a soft heart. He’s glad for Harry’s friendship, the dinners they share, the times sitting quietly next to each other in Merlin’s office. The handclasps. The hugs, few and far between.

He became used to it. Told himself there would be time.

And now--

“Oh, hey,” Eggsy offers, too elated to be awkward. There’s a flush riding high on his cheeks and his hair is tousled by more than a hastily removed hat. “Sorry ‘bout, um.”

“Yes, our apologies.” Merlin’s gaze is stuck on Harry’s hand pressed proprietarily against Eggsy’s hip, fingers curling against the cotton of his trousers. It stutters again when he finally looks at Harry’s face, the eyepatch stark and wrong covering his features.

“Ah.” Merlin clears his throat. “No problem. But not in my office, if y’would.”

Harry’s good eye goes half-lidded. The corner of his mouth curls up, and Merlin has _never_ seen that expression before, the predatory satisfaction. Was this what had been hidden behind those lenses all this time?

“We’ll get out of your way.” Harry all but tugs Eggsy out of the room, the boy -- no, the young man -- stumbling into the hall with a wave and a dopey grin.

Merlin walks over to the door. Closes it. Walks back to his desk.

Stands there, staring at where the man he loved and the man _he_ loved had just been snogging the living daylights out of each other.

No use dwelling on it, he tells himself. He came in here to work, and work he will. Only, when he seats himself in his office chair and looks up at the monitors, they’re suspiciously blurry.

“Hell,” he mutters, hating how the word chokes in his throat. For a brief moment he hates Eggsy too, for being young and beautiful and obviously head over heels for Harry -- hates _Harry,_ for taking a man half his age to bed -- but that’s unfair.

“Too fucking late,” he tells his reflection, and watches the first bit of moisture streak down his cheek.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not all sad! The next chapter is happy. If you're into that kind of thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fix-it fic to my own fic!

“He didn’t look none too happy when we left ‘im,” Eggsy points out. “I thought you said he’d get it, yeah?”

“Merlin,” and Eggsy has to grin at how Harry even sounds good when he’s growly and irritable, “can sometimes be _absolutely blind_.”

“Well you said he was, like, pining for you, yeah?” Eggsy says. “For years ‘n years. Probably all caught up in it, can’t see anything if it isn’t smackin’ him in the face.”

Harry glares -- at least Eggsy thinks he glares, the eyepatch makes it a little hard to tell -- at a weird portrait of a man with truly epic sideburns.

“I mean,” Eggsy continues. “You could always go back in and smack him with your--”

“ _Eggsy_.”

“‘S just a suggestion.” Eggsy leans into Harry’s solid warmth, delights that he’s able to do so. “Seriously though, you didn’t see his face. Looked like he was barely holdin’ together.”

Harry breathes out hard through his nose. “All right. I’ll speak to him tomorrow. You and I, if you’ll recall, have dinner reservations.”

“Oh, yeah.” Eggsy grins. “That posh joint with the oysters, right?”

This time Harry actually sighs. It’s a fond sigh, though, so Eggsy counts it as a victory. “Yes, the one with the oysters.”

Wicked.

 

Eggsy doesn’t get to see -- or hear -- about how Harry and Merlin’s heart-to-heart goes. The morning after a _truly fantastic_ night (he’ll be walking funny for at least two days) Lancelot requests backup for her mission in Beirut, and Eggsy is wheels up by half-ten. He gets back a week later with twelve stitches in his leg and a sprained elbow, Roxy by his side missing half her hair and with splints on all ten of her toes.

Merlin greets them in the hangar.

“Welcome back, Lancelot, Galahad. Infirmary first, we’ll debrief later. Eggsy, find Harry when you’re done. And you, m’girl,” Merlin stoops for Roxy’s arm to loop over his shoulder, his own carefully supporting her weight. “Take it slow. We’ll hobble on down together, all right?”

Eggsy squints. He _knew_ she was Merlin’s favorite. 

Roxy sends back a much better squint, one that’s only improved by the dark smudges under her eyes and the burnt ends of her hair. 

Eggsy huffs. Fine.

The infirmary gives him painkillers and a bit of salve and sends him on his way. He passes by Roxy and Merlin again on his way out; Merlin nods at him.

Eggsy wonders what that means. Did Harry smooth things over? Is Merlin going to murder Eggsy in his sleep for stealing his man?

One look at Harry answers that question: his good eye is practically glowing, and there’s a loose-limbed relaxation about him that Eggsy has only personally seen after sex or a really good glass of whisky.

“Galahad!” Harry restrains himself to a clasp on the shoulder. Eggsy doesn’t -- he leans in until he’s all up on Harry’s chest, probably wrinkling his bespoke waistcoat and pocket square. He doesn’t care. “Welcome back.”

“Missed you,” Eggsy mumbles. He breathes in Harry’s cologne, his skin underneath, the sharp scent of a clean-pressed suit.

Harry runs gentle fingers over his skull. “Tough mission?”

“Nah.” Eggsy pulls away just enough so he isn’t drooling on Harry when he speaks. “Just dangerous. Merlin welcomed us back, but I got nothin’ from him. You two hash it out?”

“Mm,” Harry says, which could mean anything. Eggsy pokes him in the side. “Oh, all right. Yes, we did. He was… a trifle upset at first. Thought I may have been, ah. Toying with your affections. And his.”

Eggsy blinks. Then he laughs, and immediately regrets it. “Ow, m’ _ribs_. Oh my god, he thought you was double-timin’ it, yeah? Shaggin’ and leavin’ me?”

“It wasn’t the most outlandish conclusion,” Harry defended. “Although I was slightly offended by how lowly Merlin thought of me.”

“Aw,” Eggsy sobers up. “I hope you didn’t say that.”

“Yes, well.” Harry coughs a little. “I rather regret it. I’ll have to make it up to him, of course.”

“Wow,” Eggsy marvels. “You can be a bit of a tit, can’t you?”

“Just for that,” Harry says primly. “You can sit out tonight.”

“What’s happening to--oh. _Oh._ That’s not fuckin’ fair, Harry.”

“You’re injured.” Harry’s voice is deep with suppressed laughter, and it makes warmth pool low in Eggsy’s stomach. “You need to rest and recover.”

“I hate you,” Eggsy says.

 

“I hate _both_ of you,” Eggsy says, biting down hard on his lower lip. Harry lets out a breathless chuckle but Merlin just _moans_ , pitchy and desperate already, and jesus fuck that’s really turning Eggsy’s crank -- seeing Merlin, normally all sarcastic and surly and buttoned up in his shirt-tie-cardigan getup, _writhing_ under Harry’s hands. And mouth.

“Shh,” Harry says, and Eggsy doesn’t realize it’s for him until Harry follows it up with a wink. Merlin’s leg twitches, his hands flexing. “Patience, love.”

Merlin makes a little wounded sound.

“Yes?” Harry sounds like he’s coaxing a dog to his hand, all sweet and gentle with steel running through underneath. “You like that?”

Merlin’s chest heaves; his mouth moves a couple of times before he can actually spit out any words. _“Damn_ you.”

Eggsy has to squeeze himself. Merlin’s voice is _wrecked_ , low and hoarse and rasping, and they haven’t even really started yet.

“Mhm,” Harry says, and now Eggsy has to close his eyes because the sight of Harry swallowing around Merlin’s prick, jesus, _gagging_ for it, is too fucking much. Only then he can focus on the _sounds:_ pants and half-voiced swears in Merlin’s thickened brogue, the slick pop of Harry’s mouth sliding off Merlin’s flesh.

When Eggsy opens his eyes again, Harry is kissing Merlin within an inch of his life.

God. Harry is lying practically on top of Merlin, a thigh pressing in close to Merlin’s groin. Merlin has a hand groping Harry’s ass (Eggsy can’t blame him) while the other fists in Harry’s hair, mussing the neat comb of it; Harry supports himself on one elbow as they undulate together, head to hips, mouths moving and -- Eggsy strains to see -- fuck, yeah, Harry’s hand tight around both their cocks, rubbing slick together.

He matches their rhythm, thighs clenching. When Merlin lets up to breathe Harry darts a quick glance at him and that’s almost it for Eggsy, seeing Harry’s mouth all red and swollen and wet, his eyes dark and dazed, hair swept messy against his forehead -- he breathes out on a whine and Harry _smirks,_ the bastard, but then Merlin is making urgent noises and Harry turns the smirk on _him_ , smugness evaporating into something like tenderness.

“That’s it.” Harry’s voice is finally losing it’s polished edge. “That’s just right, darling, just a bit more--”

Eggsy whimpers in time with Merlin, watching the muscles in Harry’s back flex, the skin pull and shift over his shoulder blade as his arm works. Only Merlin is saying something, whispering it, moaning--

“--oh god oh fuck _Harry_ y’ham-handed bastard _ah_ I need tae come let me come _let me_ \--”

Eggsy comes with a vicious twist of his wrist, banging his head against the back of his chair as his back arches. He’s pretty sure he gasps, or maybe shouts a little, but by the time he’s stopped staring blankly at the ceiling and gathered himself enough to apologize, Harry’s hovering next to him.

“All right?” His voice is gentle, still faintly gravelly, and a shiver ripples its way over Eggsy’s skin.

“Yeah,” Eggsy breathes. “Oh, yeah. Uh. How’s Merlin.”

“Fine, thanks.” Merlin sounds like he’s trying to be sarcastic, but his voice is too fucked out and dreamy for it to work. “Get your tart over t’the bed, Galahad, ‘m gettin’ cold.”

Eggsy’s still slow from his orgasm, so it doesn’t register right away. “Wait, Galahad? You just had sex with Harry an’ you’re still calling him Galahad?”

“‘S his name, innit?” Merlin slits open an eye. “‘less you know my birth name, eh?”

Eggsy realizes he _doesn’t_.

“Um,” he says. “But I’m--”

Harry shuts him up with a kiss. “I’ve carried the name a long while,” he murmurs. “It’ll take a bit to adjust, that’s all.”

Eggsy decides to think about that later. He gets into bed, a little wary of Merlin’s knees and feet and elbows, but Harry solves that problem by settling himself in the middle.

“So,” he ventures after a bit of dozing. “Round two--”

Merlin hits him with a pillow.


End file.
